THAT FIRST BREAK (Broken Redemption Prequel 1)

Chapter 15

Emilia

Snapping awake, I sit up. With a hand over my pounding heart, I take in the darkness and listen closely. Late-night noises aren't an unusual occurrence as of late, given that our house turned into a makeshift operations center since the night of the fire. People come and go at all hours of the day or night, and there's no avoiding the animated yet hushed conversations happening all around. Tonight, however, all is quiet. Eerily so, which makes me wonder what roused me from sleep. Now that the funeral is hours behind us and everyone is gone there's nothing left but this empty void.

Maybe it was a dream. Or given the circumstances, most likely a nightmare. Nothing could have prepared us for the intense grief and uncertainty that has descended upon our lives like a noxious fog of doom. It's everywhere. Smoky tendrils that somehow dampen and distort the safe world we once knew, turning it into something dark and unrecognizable. Nothing feels familiar. Not the house where I grew up, the friends I've known all my life. Even my parents and the community we rely on, everyone's different. Some are somber, while many others have grown distant, almost despondent.

Since the death of Lucas and Jen's parents, no one knows how to be anymore. How to act. What to do. How to cope. It's like everyone is stuck in the muck with no way to pull themselves out. It's a terrifying time, for if the adults don't know how to go on and return to their everyday lives, then what hope do we kids have? Lucas and Jen? Me and the rest of our friends? Will there ever come a time when we'll feel safe and secure in our lives again?

Wrapping my arms around myself, I look over at the clock on the nightstand. The blue numbers are blurred and hard to read behind the tears welling in my eyes, so it takes a second to see that it's just after midnight. The chances of getting back to sleep are slim, so with a sigh, I stand from the bed hoping a cup of hot tea will help.

I hate this.

The constant trail of tears.

The deep sense of helplessness that plagues me as I attempt to help Lucas and Jen through this impossible situation.

Most of all, I hate how heavy everything feels. Gone is the light that shone brightly in Jen's mischievous smile. Gone is the comforting presence that accompanied Lucas whenever he entered a room. The playful banter and back and forth that brought us solace during times of stress no longer exists. Instead, there sits this awkwardness that has us tiptoeing around one another, unsure of what to do or say to not add more pain to an already unbearable situation.

And then there's this weird distance between Lucas and me. So much has changed since the night he took me in his arms, declared his love, and kissed me senseless. That brief but oh-so-perfect moment came to a crashing halt the instant Will's dad called with the news. Since losing his parents, not only has Lucas put me back in the friend zone, but he's done it with such force that calling what we now have a friendship feels like a huge exaggeration.

For reasons I don't understand, it's like he can't stand the sight of me. He leaves the room when I come in and does everything he can to ensure we're never alone. I've tried on dozens of occasions to get him to talk to me, but he won't. He's pushing me away again, and this time I don't have a right to demand that he stop. He's dealing with a major tragedy and it would be selfish of me to put my feelings above his. As someone who loves him unconditionally, I have to find it in myself to be okay with granting him the space he needs.

I only wish it didn't hurt so darn much.

For the first time in days, the house is completely dark. Not wanting to wake anyone, I use the hints of moonlight to navigate my way down the stairs to the first floor. As an only child, I'm used to the silent noises of my house, which is why it takes no effort at all to notice that I'm not alone down here. Walking through the darkened hallway, past the dining room and kitchen, I turn toward our family room.